The Field and the Plough

I know I am born of the Earth
For on seeing a freshly ploughed field
With nine-inches turned deep into the soil
Intuitively my heart will race, for sex is on my mind

Once mouldboards have been cast into the mud
The depth of my core temperature will rise
My eyes widen and pupils dilate at the
Smeared, sexy, sexy, shining cuts and furrows

I want to feel my ploughman’s rough hands
Press hard between my legs, and against my neck
For I know he will pitch me to the ground
And reveal how deeply his seed can be drilled...

I know I am born of the earth
With red clay in my dark hair and feet planted on land
I wait and bide my time, for terra-firma is within me
And one day, field and ploughman will be mine